Blue Rose
by Iveyn-Adler
Summary: Two years after the Christine had left him, Erik again meets a person from his past. However, twelve years have passed - she is no longer a child, and the Phantom is more lost than ever... Red Rose sequel, the second part of the Three Roses series. Once again special thanks to Jessi who helped me translate this story.
1. Past and present

_Blue Rose_

**Chapter One: Past and present**

_Light. A bright glow in the distance and darkness surrounding me. I don't know where I am, nor what I should do. I hear laughter. I turn in the direction from which it comes and then I see her. She runs happily towards the light, her dark curls dancing behind her with her every movement. On her beautiful face I can see only the expression of complete happiness. She's so beautiful ... but she doesn't notice me – she's only looking __at this strange glow looming in the distance__. Why won't she even glance at me? I grab her hand as she passes by. She turns her head and __**finally**__ looks straight at my face. The blissful expression of joy immediately disappears from her face, replaced by a grimace of terror. She pushes my hand away and runs from me, heading towards the light. I want to follow her, but I can't move. I want to call her, but I can't __utter a single word__. She's getting farther and farther away from me ... I can only watch, left alone in the darkness. In the light I see a male figure._

**\- - - X - - -**

I wake up with a scream, which resounds around me, echoing off the stone walls.

But there is no one here who could hear it.

''Christine...'' I sob, hiding my face in my hands. ''Why?''

Why did you leave? Why did you turn out to be like everyone else and abandon me? Why can't I forget about you? Why do you still have to haunt me? Why won't you just leave me alone? Why... why am I alone again? Why do I have to lose all that is dear to me? **Why can't I have at least a tiny bit of happiness?!**

Two years ... **Two years** have passed, and I still remember her face, her voice, even her scent. Every day, every passing second is a never-ending torture. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to pull my hair out, I want to dig nails deep into my own flesh and tear it till it starts to bleed – anything that would let me even for a moment forget about the pain. But none of these things help.

**I've tried.**

Slowly, I get up on trembling legs and begin to take tentative steps among the remains of what once used to be the furniture and objects which I had so carefully chosen for my home. I trample upon my own compositions, drawings, plans, but I can not bring myself to care about this or feel regret because of it.

Because I regret too many other things.

I hit something with my foot. I look down. The violin. Once I would have immediately picked it up and made sure that it isn't broken. But now I don't care, it's pointless anyway – for two years I have not touched any instrument. I can't.

My music left with her.

Next step. The sound of breaking glass under my feet. These shards were formerly a mirror... But maybe it is better this way? I know perfectly well how all these months devastated my body. I practically don't leave the underground, I eat just enough to survive – and even about this I increasingly forget to do – and my dreams are full of nightmares and memories that don't let me rest... I've neglected almost all the needs of the body, which a human being is able to neglect. I am a wreck of a man and I look like one.

I don't need anything to remind me about that.

Finally I reach one of the few furniture items that have survived my attacks of fury of which have haunted me for the first few months – to my desk. Here, on its countertop, there is a wooden box, and inside of it there lies what I am looking for. Morphine. Part of me wonders how I could have fallen so low and became so pathetic, but these thoughts quickly disappear under the pressure of others, those about the peace and bliss offered by the contents of the syringe, the sweet moment of illusion that I crave so much. A small voice inside my head is trying to scream that it's wrong, that I should stop... but I have long since learned to ignore it. I open the casket, knowing that in a moment all will be better, I can almost feel the sweet poison flowing through my veins...

Empty.

I do not have morphine anymore – yesterday I took the last dose. No no no no **no**! Overcome by panic, I search chaotically all around, hoping that by a miracle I will find a hidden reserve which I'd forgotten about. Of course, I find nothing. A long moan escapes my mouth. I **need **more.

And that means that I have to go to the surface.

I desperately try to estimate the passage of time in hopes of determining the time of the day. However, in my drug stupor, my mind hasn't been able to distinguish between the consecutive passing hours, and I soon realize that I am not even able to reason whether it's night or day now on the surface... Funny thing... and not so long ago I could have confirmed it with such precision. ..

Determinating finally that is sufficiently late, I decide to leave the underground.

**\- - - X - - -**

I was wrong – the sun is only starting to set. I shield my eyes from the still relatively bright rays. It hurts. When was the last time I saw the sun? I don't remember...

There is no point in returning to the opera house, better wait here for the arrival of dusk. I move forward, but I don't really know where to. It doesn't matter. I'm just walking ahead. I go down the subsequent streets, I walk past the buildings, I pass a few passers-by, but none of these things can really reach me – I feel like there is a glass wall between me and the rest of the world, an invisible barrier separating me from others.

Gradually, I slow down my pace. I am on a bridge, and I approach a brick railing and look at the river.

Looking at the dark, choppy water, I begin to wonder why I should continue this... I will wait until dusk, and then what? I will again fall into the arms of addiction in a desperate attempt to escape from reality? What for? The following days merge into one, and each of them is the same as the other, completely devoid of any meaning. I can't smile, I can't create, I can't even feel anger anymore... I'm dead. I move, I breathe, I speak, but actually, inside, I'm dead. What was me, has died a long time ago – there's probably nothing left in me anymore. This body is just an empty shell. So what am I waiting for? **Why forcefully prolong this meaningless existence?!**

...I... I have nothing left to live for anymore...

It would be so simple... to just leave. To not think. To not feel. Let the dark depths swallow me and simply leave it all behind... Put an end to empty days, the accusing echoes of the past filling the silence and the fearful gaze of brown eyes which haunts me even in my dreams.

I climb onto a narrow piece of the wall which separates me from the water abyss. I look at the dark depths. I can't see the bottom. Tears flow down my cheeks- strange, I didn't think I still had any left. But after a while like this, I find that nothing reaches me any longer. I don't hear the hum of water or the sounds of the city, I don't feel the breath of wind on my exposed cheek – there is only the river and a sweet promise of no feelings, of the darkness that is calling to me, summoning me... Just a moment ...

I extend my foot beyond the edge to take a step into nothingness...

And suddenly someone's hand pulls my sleeve.

I turn to look at the intruder and immediately freeze as I look into the eyes of the person in front of me. I know those eyes. Eyes of unusual colour, which I've seen only once...

The eyes in the colour of violets.

''The little girl with flowers...'' I whisper.

But she is not a girl anymore – for it is not a child that stands in front of me, but a woman. Regardless, I have no doubts. It's not just her eyes that tell me this. Her long, delicate curls falling on her shoulders that have a familiar, light shade of brown. In the features of a milky white face, I can still see the childish, and in some strange way, sweet, innocence. The longer I look, the more details appear to my eyes – the small lips, the arch of eyebrows, the shape of the nose... Small, seemingly imperceptible details... But I see them. The past and the present merge into one. From a young woman slowly emerges the same little florist from nearly... how many years? Twelve years? This is no illusion I have imagined in my despairing mind.

It really **is** her.

And she also recognizes me. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she... she **smiles** as if not even a single moment had passed since that day. She pulls my sleeve again, urging me to join her in a safe place, away from the edge. I can't protest. Slowly, awkwardly, I step down from the railing, and I stand beside her, towering over a much shorter woman. I can't control the tremor that has taken over my body, nor can I take my eyes off her. This is too unreal.

Everything comes back. Memories from so many years ago flood my mind. The embroidered handkerchief. The warmth of a small hand closing my fingers around a small object. The sweet scent of a crimson flower. A sudden gust of wind, carring away a black piece of fabric...

Unconsciously, I reach into my pocket, and my fingers encounter something soft. I don't know what guided me to do this, nor in what purpose I did it- but I had kept it. The rose had wilted, but I've never gotten rid of the ribbon, I just... I couldn't do it. I pull it out of my pocket, presenting it to the rightful owner.

The shock is all too visible on the girl's face, but soon her smile widens and she turns her back to me so that I could tie her hair. Something so simple... and yet unknown to me. I can't remember a time when anyone asked for my touch... And just in that moment, when I tie the ribbon around the soft curls with my trembling fingers, I realize something else.

Her kindness from twelve years ago was amazing, yes, but not impossible to explain. At that time I was simply a strange man in a mask to her, so it wasn't so farfetched for her to be kind to me... But now?

I move away from her, and she once again turns to me. She looks calm...

I don't understand this.

For months, almost all of France had talked only about the events of that night and the masked madman who had caused the fire of the opera house and killed so many people. There is hardly a person who has not heard of the Phantom. And that means that she also must know. **She** **has to**.

And this is what doesn't make any sense. How can she allow me to even get close to her, let alone touch her? **What person turns their back on a murderer?** My awareness of the ease with which I could take her life at this moment is sickening. Why is she so... trusting? I am a monster... and no one shows kindness to beasts... So what is her reason to do so?

It is only when these words have finished leaving my lips that I realize that I am saying them out loud.

She just looks at me for a moment with those extraordinary eyes, and then approaches me, raising her hand. I want to take a step back, but her fingers touch my cheek only to wipe remnants of tears from my face. That's all. This small gesture is the only answer I receive.

''What do you mean? If I cry, then I can't be so evil? Do, in your opinion, monsters not cry? No.'' I start shaking my head, thinking about my blood-stained hands which no tears will ever clean. ''You're wrong. Tears do not prove anyone's nobility, they do not make one a good person, it... it doesn't matter! And ... why aren't you saying anything ?!"

Because of that last frustrated sentence, for the first time on her face I see something akin to... sadness? The girl touches her throat in silence. The gesture doesn't make sense... until I realize that she has never said a single word. Neither then twelve years ago nor today.

''Are you mute?'' I ask quietly, even though I already know the answer perfectly well.

The girl nods. I don't know what to say. Thousands of possible answers pass through my head, but none of them seems right to me, so we just both stand there in silence.

''I would like to know your name...'' I blurt out at last.

Immediately I feel like fool. Of all the possibilities I had, I had to of course choose one of the worst. How is she supposed to answer this question?

But she finds a way. She reaches into her basket of flowers – funny, only now I've noticed that she has it with her... as if all of this wasn't familiar enough...

The flower that she pulls out also isn't something new – it's a rose. Only the colour is different ... the petals are not scarlet like the last time, but they have a deep, dark blue colour. The girl points at a flower and then at herself.

Of course.

''Rose... Your name is Rose,'' I say.

Because how wouldn't it be? Could there ever be a more suitable name for her than that?

The girl – _Rose_ – is now pointing at me in a questioning gesture.

''Erik. I'm Erik.''

I feel strange saying it out loud. Have I actually ever done that before? No one has ever really cared to know my name. Christine was no exception. During all these years she has never asked – even when she knew the truth, when she knew that I was only a human and not an angel like she had believed for so long... even then it hadn't even crossed her mind...

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of church bells announcing the hour. I count the strikes, and I know that it is already late. She looks frantically at me and then to the city. She has to go. She will leave and I will never see her again. At this thought, a wave of panic that I can't explain in any way washes over me. I grab her hand. She doesn't push it away.

''Tomorrow. The same place. The same time. Will you come?'' I blurt out in one breath, through a tight throat.

I look at the flower which I'm holding. She gently squeezes my hand, then unravels my fingers, just to tighten them around the stem of a rose a moment later. She looks at me for a minute, and then turns around and walks away.

I'm left alone.

I look at the flower which I'm holding. A blue rose. I've heard about them – this colour does not occur naturally, it is obtained by dyeing. They are treated as a symbol of hope, but also permanence, loyalty... Is this a promise?

I don't know...

**\- - - X - - -**

However, despite my ignorance, I still desperatly hang on to it. Even while intoxicated by the drug, I still forcefully clench my fingers around the flower, not letting go of it. I can't sleep tonight – I can only think about tomorrow.

Will she be there?

Will she come?

I'm afraid to know the answer...

Because I know that if I'm wrong, if I won't find her on that bridge tomorrow, this will be the end of me...


	2. Together

Chapter Two: Together

And yet Rose surprises me again.

She comes.

I can't believe it – miracles don't happen... or at least not to me... and yet, she is there for me the day after our reunion.

And the next one.

And another one.

She comes every day.

Each of our meetings is a bit different from the last. Sometimes we walk together, side by side, through the lesser known streets of Paris, away from prying eyes; sometimes I simply watch from afar as Rose sells flowers to passers-by, bidding goodbye to each one of them with a warm smile; sometimes we just sit together in this - incomprehensible as it is - peculiarly comfortable silence, and sometimes... sometimes I confess to her.

I confess everything. Every crime, every lie, every wrongdoing that I have done or of which has been done to me. I tell her everything – without concealment, without half-truths, without mitigating anything. Regardless, Rose always stays at my side. No matter what monstrosities I say, she never runs away, she doesn't even flinch, nor does she push me to continue when I finally fall silent. She doesn't demand anything, she doesn't judge... she just... she's simply there, she listens to what I am saying, and when I can no longer find words, she smiles- despite the sadness I see in her eyes- as if trying to assure me that nothing has changed... that she hasn't changed her mind about me.

This smile is an invariable element of our meetings. I still can't understand... why would anyone smile _for me?_

But this isn't everything. I am in a terrible condition, mentally and physically, and Rose can see it. So, for each subsequent meeting, she starts to bring with her some food to share with me. She never fails to do this, even if most of the time it's not much that she can give. Usually, I manage to eat at least some of what she brings with her. For the first time in two years I start to eat regularly.

None of this makes sense to me. Why is she doing all of this? Why is she so different from everyone else? Why does she care for the beast? However, the prospect of loneliness is far too frightening for me to begin to question this, and so, every time I want to ask about it, the words die on my lips before I can say them.

Every day I count down the hours and seconds to the next meeting. It's the only thing I wait for, the only thing I have left... And truth to be told, it's the only thing that keeps me alive. In every sense of these words.

However, one day it is different.

Rose doesn't show up at the agreed time.

**\- - - X - - -**

I'm standing alone on the bridge, but the girl with violet eyes does not appear.

So, I'm waiting.

It's getting later and later. The sound of bells announce each next, passing hour. The last passers-by slowly head towards their homes. The sky darkens, the streets slowly submerge into darkness. Cool, evening air begins to attack my body fiercely.

But I'm still waiting.

With each passing moment, an invisible noose tightens on my neck. I feel like I'm suffocating, I can't catch my breath. My heart beats wildly, and my hands are getting numb from the cold.

But I'm still waiting.

I have to.

Because she will be here.

_She will come._

I can't, I won't believe otherwise.

Because it would mean that the only one, tiny miracle which was granted to me, has been taken away; that the last, tiny spark in the darkness has gone out...

Midnight approaches. I close my eyes.

She won't come.

And in this moment, when my world starts to crumble, I hear footsteps.

I turn around, lifting my eyelids... and I see Rose running towards me.

She's here.

I breathe deeply, slowly calming down. But something is wrong... Why are her movements so... stiff? Finally she reaches me and stops. She stands with her head lowered, trying to catch her breath. Her memorable black ribbon which usually neatly holds her hair today is tied loosely- it looks as if Rose was just about to lose it. Some of the light brown curls had already escaped from the strip of cloth and fallen over the girl's face, covering it. I reach out and gently brush her hair away... and I freeze at the sight that appears before my eyes.

Rose's cheek is blemished by dark bruise.

''Who did this to you? What happened?'' I ask immediately, unable to take my eyes off her face.

Rose only dismisses me with a wave of her hand and shakes her head, trying to convince me that it's nothing. She smiles and hands me bread, then points to me in the gesture that she always uses to ask about my well-being... Just like that. As if nothing happened. Behind the mask of her fake smile, I can see the appallingly familiar, fearful look that once used to appear on my own face when I was younger.

How can she behave this way when it's obvious that someone has hurt her? How can she assure me that everything is alright, that I shouldn't be worried, when the truth is clearly otherwise? How can she put my well-being above her own?

Due to the late hour, Rose doesn't stay for too long. Soon she bids me goodbye and leaves. However, I don't do the same thing.

I've let her take care of me for so long, and yet, I've never gotten duely interested in her fate. I haven't asked and haven't noticed the signs that I would have definitely seen if only I'd cared to take a closer look... Never again.

As soon as Rose disappears behind the first corner, I follow her. If she doesn't reveal anything to me, then I'll find out myslef.

**\- - - X - - -**

I follow a few meters behind her, staying in the shadows. I keep a distance small enough between us so as not to lose her, but at the same time still sufficiently large enough so as to make sure that she won't notice me. Wandering through the dark streets of Paris, we reach the poorer part of the city. The sight of ever-present poverty is overwhelming. I deliberately don't look into some alleys – I know perfectly well that I don't want to see what is hidden in them. Yes, it was obvious that Rose is not one of the wealthy people – if it were so, she wouldn't have to sell flowers to passers-by every day since childhood, but still... I haven't thought this would be so bad for her. Feeling the bitter taste in my mouth, I curse my own stupidity and egoism, which have blinded me for so long. _Never again._

With each step, Rose speeds up more and more, and eventually she almost breaks into a run. I can see that she's in a hurry, but why in such a big one? When she reaches the house with a dark, dilapidated door, she doesn't even stop, instead running straight inside. In her rush, she doesn't even notice that the door she hasn't properly closed remains ajar. Some time afterward, the sound of a blow and something heavy falling to the ground comes from inside. Silently, I walk to the door and through the gap inadvertently left by Rose, and I peer inside.

The first thing I see in the modest room is a tall, ageing man standing in the middle of the room with a bottle in his hand. I can see some harshness and ferocity in the features of his face, but it's difficult for me to discern something more because of his thick beard and greasy, probably once light brown hair, which don't allow me to see through to the details. But I can clearly see his anger, which he doesn't even try to control. His hands are almost shaking with rage.

However, it is not the man who draws my attention, but the small, feminine figure lying curled up on the floor at his feet. I feel sick when I realize that I hadn't heard a falling object. It was Rose who fell.

I clench my fists. **How dare he?**

In this moment, the man starts shouting.

''You useless bitch! I should have known better and not taken in any damn bastards of my brother when he finally died! I should have left you on the street instead of dealing with you now! No heritage, no one wants mute for a wife... you can't even earn your keep! You bring in less and less money! Where the hell were you roaming all day?! Do you think I don't see anything?! And... **look at me when I'm talking to you!**''

His hand rises, ready to strike.

I burst into the room.

The man turns toward me.

''What the...'' he starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence.

My fingers tighten around his throat. I lift him into the air.

His bloodshot eyes widen in shock and terror. The bottle falls out of his hand, breaking into dozens of pieces. The dark content spills over the floor, staining it a crimson so similar-looking to the color of blood... The man desperately tries to free himself from my grip, his legs kick in the air in panic. It's pointless. None of them has ever won over me – this time won't be any different.

In response, I only squeeze his neck even tighter.

The whole world ceases to exist for me. Here, there's just me, the man I want to kill, and the fiery fury that engulfs me. A fury toward the man who dared to raise a hand upon the only person who has shown me kindness, fury toward the bastard, tormenting someone weaker than him... but that's not all. This is not revenge only for Rose, but also for me. In the man in front of me, I see the face of each of my persecutors, every person who has ever hurt me. Once more, I feel the whip on my back and the bitter taste of humiliation. In this moment, the man in front of me is the personification of everything I hate...

There's not a single thing I would desire more than his death.

He fights less and less. I feel life escaping from him... he knows it's escaping him, too. It'll be soon. The fog clouds his eyes, and the body falls limply... but I still don't let go – on the contrary, I clench my hand around his neck even harder. His heart beats more and more slowly, just in a moment it will stop forever, in a moment he will die...

Just a moment.

Just a little longer...

Someone touches my arm.

Reluctantly, I take my eyes off my victim to look at the pale face of Rose standing next to me. The girl is clutching my sleeve. Our eyes meet and she starts shaking her head slowly.

''Why are you stopping me?!'' For the first time in my time of knowing her, I'm shouting at her. ''After all he has done to you?! **He doesn't deserve to live! He should die!**''

I try to come to my senses... it's not her I'm furious at. My next words are calmer.

''Besides, even if I let him go... it might mean something to you, but it does not matter to me anymore. On my hands there's the blood of too many people. This is just one more victim on my list... Will one life really change anything?''

Looking straight into my eyes, Rose nods firmly in confirmation.

For a moment I look at her in silence.

I slowly remove my fingers, and the man falls heavily to the floor. He's unconscious... but alive. I spared him. I've shown mercy, which he didn't have.

I look at Rose, who rewards me with a small smile. I extend my hand in her direction, and despite everything she has just seen, she accepts it without hesitation.

Together, we depart from this place, leaving it forever behind us.

**\- - - X - - -**

Rose confidently follows me into the dark when we walk through a labirynth of corridors deep beneath the Paris opera house. However I would prefer it to be otherwise, my underground hermitage is the only place where we could go now.

Only when we finally get there, I fully realize what state my home is in. Until recently, it didn't bother me, I was convinced that it does not matter, but now, looking at the pervasive destruction, I wish it could be differently... almost... almost as if I was ashamed.

I lead Rose to one of my rooms and stop at its threshold, not having the courage to go inside.

I turn to the girl standing beside me.

"I know that all this doesn't look too good, but this room is intact. From now on it is also yours. Use everything as you please, and if you need anything else, I'll take care of it immediately.''

Rose nods and wants to move inside, but I grab her hand. Recent events appear again before my eyes. Ensuring her that she is safe here seems to me suddenly more important to me than anything else. I want to promise her that no one will hurt her here,that she doesn't have anything to fear – and, for what it's worth to me, because my intentions are completely honourable... I want to say a lot of things, but as soon as the first words leave my lips, Rose silences me with a smile, as if what I'm saying was obvious, as if she had no doubts...

She goes inside and I'm left alone, staring at the door of the room into which she has disappeared.

The room that was supposed to be Christine's...

For two years I've been avoiding this room, unable to bear even the sight of it, but now I can't run from it any longer. Old memories come back... I see her in front of me again, I hear her voice, I feel the delicate lips touching mine...

With a moan, I cover my face with my hands.

**It hurts.**

Why does it still hurt so much?

I lean against the wall, trying to get rid of the intrusive thoughts. It's all because of this room... and now Rose is going to live in it...

A treacherous little voice whispers that no one, not even she, has the right to stay there, that this room is not for her, that letting anyone use it is profanity...

I silence it immediately. Rose is going to stay here. She's not going back to that place. **I won't allow it.**

''Enough of this selfishness,'' I repeat, and it's a promise I intend to keep.

As I slowly begin to calm down, the door opens again and Rose appears before me. I notice that she has changed her clothes. Now she's wearing a slightly loose lilac dress that matches beautifully with her eyes. Long sleeves, delicate white embroidery... I remember buying it. One of the many dresses I had bought for Christine. She's never put on any of them...

**No.**

Not now. I can't think about this right now. Later, I will let myself mourn the past. But that will come later – now I have to take care of the girl standing in front of me.

I ask her if she has sustained any other injuries, besides her bruises, that need to be taken care of. In response, she quickly shakes her head. Too quickly.

''Rose...'' I start slowly.

Reluctantly, she rolls up her sleeve, showing me the cut on her left forearm. It's rather large and reddened – I hope it's not infected. It must cause her pain... Was she really going to hide it from me?

Moments later, Rose is sitting in one of the remaining armchairs, and I cleanse the wound, glancing at the scarred skin. Some of them are small, pale lines barely visible, while other, larger ones seem to have been repeatedly opened or inadequately treated in the past. However, it is these fresh, still pink ones, the sight of which is the most difficult for me to bear. Because perhaps I could have prevented some of them if I'd only cared to notice the truth. Each of these scars speaks of years of suffering in silence, more clearly than any words ever could... And she was ready to continue bearing it, not wanting to worry me...

Someone like me is not worth it.


	3. Step by step

**Chapter three: Step by step**

Living with someone is a strange feeling, as I learn the next day with my first uncertain "_good morning_". Although yesterday's night still haunts my thoughts, the strongest emotions have already subsided and now, as does Rose, I have to face our new reality, along with the enormity of changes that have taken place in our lives in just those few memorable hours.

I regret nothing.

Neither does she.

But still... the subtle occurences, like our fingers meeting when we reach for the same object, and us awkwardly squeezing by eachother in the doorways, and the small habits of the other person, which we hadn't known before... there are so many little things for which our short, everyday meetings couldn't have prepared me in any way. Our first days together are full of trials and errors, and the gradual finding and testing of certain boundaries that I encounter for the very first time. However, soon I start to notice other things, such as how her morning and evening smiles, although a bit different,are still similar to those that I saw on our bridge... how I find peace in the sounds of someone's footsteps in the next room whenever the black thoughts come back, and I feel like I'm drowning... Slowly, the need to analyze everything disappears, and I... realize that although it is indeed new and strange... this situation is not unpleasant. Although there are still many things that are difficult for both of us to get used to, someone's presence, the awareness that there is always someone nearby... all of this is soothing in some strange way. I hadn't known it before – I had gotten used to loneliness.

But of course, it doesn't stop at Rose just being here – no... I've already learned that it's not her way to simply live here. Not only does she effortfully continue everything that she has been doing for me already, but now she goes a step further. Every day she makes sure I eat and sleep regularly, and it's thanks to this that my body is slowly returning to its previous state. More and more often, I join her in the kitchen, where her calloused hands guide my movements as I knead the dough for bread, which I usually would just simply buy, while I explain to her how to prepare foreign dishes, which she hadn't heard of before and tell her about products which she previously couldn't have afforded. In this room fragrant with newly purchased spices, food begins to have taste again.

I don't forget about my promise, and every day I try to somehow repay Rose for what she's doing. I make sure that she has everything she needs – because I know that she won't ask for anything herself – I look for new ways of communicating with her, memorize certain gestures, and learn more about her and her past... about loving parents who left too early and later years in her uncle's house.

One day, remembering the care and tenderness with which Rose's fingers had stroked the delicate petals of the roses, I bring flowers to my home. Though the roses are the first thing that comes to my mind- after all, all this had started with them-, in the end I decide on a modest bouquet of heathers, which I leave in one of the main rooms, suddenly having no courage to hand it over to her personally. It's not until later, when I find Rose arranging the flowers in a vase with immense care, that I recollect myself. And so, when the heathers fade, I buy more of them. And then more. Small bouquets of white and pink carnations with ragged petals, elegant, graceful irises and sometimes joyfully red poppies... small gifts and also short messages that I know we both can read every day... they all bloom in the opera's basement.*

However, this is not the only change in my home.

The very next day after arriving here, Rose begins to work on restoring this place to normality. And soon... I start to help her. Initially, I do it without much enthusiasm. However, with each destroyed element returning to its place or a new one replacing the old one, I lose myself more and more in this work. At times, I feel something akin to peace and fulfillment coming back to me...

I had forgotten what it is like to have a goal that you want to achieve.

The work allows me to occupy not only the hands, but also the mind, and so I forget for a moment about that which overwhelms me all the time... although not always. Sometimes it's the other way around. Some things still carry too many memories. Drawings of Christine, descriptions of our lessons, songs I composed for her, Don Juan's costume, instruments that I still can't touch... although I have forced myself to tune them... too much, sometimes it's just too much. Therefore, I am grateful when Rose begins to deal with all the more... personal objects, freeing me of this obligation. I wouldn't let anyone else touch them, but she's different. Rose respects my privacy, never tries to find out more about what she finds, doesn't show me anything, doesn't demand answers... It's always like that.

Except for one day when she finds a certain page.

**\- - - X - - -**

I am repairing a broken leg of the table, when I feel a gentle touch of a hand on my arm. I turn to Rose, who is standing behind me and glancing uncertainly between me and a sheet of paper in her hands, as if wondering whether she is doing the right thing. Without a word, I approach her and take the page in my hand.

Music notes.

Those are music notes.

And I don't have to look at the title nor the date written in the corner, which Rose was so interested in, to know which piece it is. Even though twelve years have passed, I still easily recognize this melody.

''Yes... _Red Rose_... A violin piece. I wrote it after our first meeting,'' I say quietly, handing the sheet of paper back to her.

The girl's violet eyes widen in delight. Without any explanation, Rose turns around and runs out of the room. I want to call her, but before I can get my voice out, she is standing in front of me again. She's holding my violin to her chest. I know what she's implying. But I can't play anymore.

"No," I say, shaking my head, feeling a strange tightness in my chest.

But Rose doesn't pay any attention to my answer. She gently opens my clenched fists to put a string and a violin in them. Then, she doesn't let go of my hands.

''Rose ... I **can't**...'' my voice sounds more like a groan.

The girl gently strokes my hand in a calming gesture, then takes two steps back and looks at me expectantly.

I slowly raise the violin and take the right position. I gently move the bow across the strings.

The first sound that I manage to extract is piercing and harsh, it hurts my ears. It is more like a grind, a scream, and not something that a violin should make. Almost as if the instrument itself was opposing my touch with a cry.

I look at Rose, but she just gestures for me to keep going. Doesn't she see that there's no point in that?

The second sound is less penetrating, less painful, but it still makes me wince. In the third there's certain... softness, although deeply hidden and barely audible. Regardless, it encourages me to continue. My next movements are more certain, my hands stop shaking. The roughness slowly fades away, giving way to something sweeter, and a melody breaks out from the grinding and screeching. I close my eyes and let her lead me to what I've forgotten. And soon it's not noise that echoes among the stone walls, but peaceful, lullaby-like music. Delicate, but clear and pure.

When the song ends, and the last notes melt in silence, I hear an applause. I open my eyes and look at Rose's smiling face.

And... for the first time I smile as well.

* heather – constancy, faithfulness, protection, sometimes also loneliness  
white carnation – pure feelings, pink – promise to never forget about the recipient  
iris – trust  
poppy – consolation, support


	4. Nightmares of the past

**Chapter four: Nightmares of the past**

_The sound of my footsteps is the only thing that disturbs the silence when I travel through the empty corridors of the opera house. Dimmed lamps are unable to disperse all the shadows, and I can't help feeling that something is watching me... The darkness, which has been my refuge so many times, suddenly becomes completely strange to me. I'm almost relieved when I finally reach the first door. But the relief doesn't last too long._

_The door doesn't lead to the next room, but to the roof, where, among the snow flickering in the starlight, still lies the __abandoned__ rose._

_Without a word, I turn around and grip the doorknob again. I do not want to look at this._

_This time the door, however, takes me to my underground home – destroyed, cold and foreign. I move on._

_Cage bars. Box five. The cemetery, where fresh blood stains the ground. Giry's empty room. Stage where real flames slowly swallow those that until recently were only decorations... I open new doors and pass the familiar places without paying attention to any of them. I wander through this strange labyrinth of memories, not knowing where I am going or whether I will ever get there._

_In Christine's dressing room, I pause, hearing a woman's sob. I call her name, but no one answers. Maybe it's better this way. I doubt I'm the one she's waiting for._

_Another door._

_The shaky catwalk suspended over the __abyss__, the loud music and colorful crowd far below me..._

_I know this scene._

_My eyes land on a terrified man who tries to increase the distance between us with all his strength. The wave of a familiar excitement floods me, and I immediately forget about my aimless journey._

_Buquet, Buquet... Do you really think you can escape from me?_

_I follow him without difficulty, gracefully jumping between the footbridges, as if every step at this height didn't threaten death. I don't lose my victim out of sight even for a moment. I relish every stumble and every fearful look. Trying not to laugh, every now and then I disappear from his view just to appear right next to him just when he begins to feel safe. __**I'm toying with him**_**.**

_But every game must come to an end._

_Buquet doesn't even have time to shout before the noose tightens around his neck. Below, the ballerinas are spinning faster and faster, full of grace and elegance, they attract the audience's eyes... no one sees the last moments of poor Joseph. The man's hands, which a moment ago had been tugging the rope in panic, fall limp. I can no longer stop the __victorious__ smile._

_I won, Buquet, I won..._

_I close my eyes, soaking in this feeling... but I can't get rid of the impression that something is wrong. I look back at the body and the triumphant laughter dies on my lips. My eyes do not meet the bloodshot eyes of a drunkard, but different ones, dark blue with a unique, almost violet shade..._

**\- - - X - - -**

I sit up violently on the bed. I can't catch my breath. The vision of violet eyes haunts me. Empty. **Dead.** Because of me. In blind panic, I helplessly try to free myself from the tangled bedding. I grope for a candle. My trembling fingers can't keep the matches that fall to the floor one by one. First one... second... third... only with the fourth do I manage to light. A tiny flame finally brightens the darkness.

I look around the room frantically. Stone walls instead of the sea of dangling ropes. A stable floor instead of shaky footbridges towering above the amused crowd. When I finally comprehend where I am and, most importantly, that I'm alone, I fall to my knees. I close my eyes.

I know who, _what_, I am, I know what I've done...so I was used to nightmares. I deserved them. But to see Rose in them...

I press hand to my lips, trying to stifle a sob. It was not real, it was not real, **it was not real...**

But what if it will be one day?

What protects her from me? My word? Does it even still mean anything? To Christine I was also a protector first, before I became her worst nightmare later... How can I know that history won't repeat itself?

**\- - - X - - -**

Two hours later, I accept the fact that today I won't be able to focus on anything apart from this gruesome scene which I still see every time I close my eyes. I put away the book without bothering to mark the page on which I left off. I don't remember a single word anyway.

I put on a mask because even now, in the middle of the night, for I don't have the courage to leave the room without it, and then, as quietly as I can, I move towards the kitchen. _Against my better judgement_, I stop for a moment at the door to Rose's room, seeking some kind of comfort from it, something that would dispel the fears which overwhelmed my mind, bring relief in this difficult moment. However, I don't recieve the peace of mind that I was counting on; instead, I get the quiet creaking of the bed and someone's shallow, terrified breath.

I raise my hand to knock on the door.

''Rose?''

Minutes pass and the door remains closed. My hand freezes on the doorknob. Although I know what I will find on the other side of the door, I hesitate to make a decision. Do I really have the right to enter? Is it still a concern or an invasion of privacy? Where does one end and the other begin? The line is thin, and I have already crossed it many times in the past...

_...and Rose has repeatedly proven that she will not ask for help, even when she needs it..._

I press down on the doorhandle.

In the light of the shaky candle flame, I notice a petite feminine figure. Shivering and drenched in sweat, she seems to be drowning in the enormous bed. But it's the look on Rose's face that pains me the most.

''Rose...'' My whisper makes the girl freeze for a moment, before she curled up into a ball, as if she was trying to look as small as possible.

The memory of the dead violet eyes returns with redoubled strength. I approach the bed and carefully put the candle on the nearby table.

''Rose?'' I repeat, gently putting a hand on her shoulder.

As soon as my fingers touch her skin, Rose's eyelids rise suddenly, and her lips open to a scream that never comes. She's looking straight at me, but I know she doesn't see me now. Her gaze seems to pass through me, focused on some monstrous scene that exists only for her. Although I woke her up, Rose is still in her nightmare.

''It's just me... it's just me... '' I whisper over and over again, unsure if it's really a comforting news.

It's only after a moment that her eyes finally focus on my face and not on the invisible torturer, tormenting her even in her sleep. Once she recognizes me, Rose throws herself into my arms, clutching the fabric of my shirt, as if she was afraid that otherwise she would be swallowed by the darkness of her dreams. Her small body shakes with sobs. I embrace her awkwardly and allow her this moment of weakness which she needs so, even if it's incomprehensible to me how my touch can be soothing for anyone.

I do not know for how long we are sitting there in almost complete silence, but finally Rose's crying stops and she moves away from me. For a moment she still remains close enough that I can count all the small freckles on her tear-stained cheeks, and she looks at me in a way that I have never seen, before finally increasing the distance between us.

I help her to her feet. Then I lead Rose to the lake shore, where I encourage her to sit in one of the armchairs, while I begin to light the candles, their light slowly brightening the darkness surrounding us. When I finish, I turn towards the girl.

''I'll be right back,'' I assure her and I go to the kitchen, where I prepare two cups of tea, remembering to add honey to one of them.

When I come back, I don't find Rose huddled in the armchair, but at the lake shore, where she is sitting with her back to me, letting cool water wash her bare feet. The blue nightgown partially reveals her shoulders, and in the warm glow of candlelight I see more scars that I haven't seen before. I prefer not to think about which of them she was dreaming today.

I sit down next to her and give her a cup of sweet tea, which she accepts with visible gratitude. I take a sip of my own drink, enjoying a familiar, bitter taste. We sit together in silence, drinking a hot brew, each lost in our own thoughts. Neither of us is trying to start a conversation. There are things about which it's easier not to talk.

That's why I don't ask what Rose who saw instead of me in those first moments after waking up. I don't ask how many times before was she was alone, helpless at the mercy of the nightmares of the past. I see in her eyes that, like me, she spends every night like this. I can barely suppress the bitter laugh that rises in my throat when I realize this. Of course... we both preferred to face our fears alone than disturb the peace of the other... and none of us thought that a similar scene could take place in another room.

**\- - - X - - -**

As we sense dawn approaching, we return to our rooms, and when we emerge from them again, we both behave as if that night hadn't taken place.

However, at night, when I wake up from another nightmare, haunted yet another time by empty violet eyes and my blood-stained hands, I again find my way to Rose's bedroom and soon fresh tears leave a mark on my shirt. The situation repeats the next day, and the next one.

On the fifth night, it's Rose who wakes me up knocking on the door. It's only the next morning that I realize why she didn't approach bed the way I usually do.

After a week, we both leave the door ajar in a silent invitation.

At first, we spend our nights similar to the first one – on the lake shore, but over time the library becomes our common refuge, in which the past can't reach us, and the old scars don't bring new pain. It is there that I show Rose the next books of my collection, explaining things she hasn't heard of before and guiding her through more difficult fragments – I know that although she can read, due to her lack of education, she is not as fluent in it as she would like. On exceptionally difficult nights, I just read aloud. With the warm light of candles, a quiet rustling of paper and two cups of tea standing nearby, for the second time in my life, I become a teacher.

Returning to the old role initially terrify me. The intrusive whisper in my head reminds me of how it the ended last time. But with time I realize something important: I'm not lying to anyone this time. I'm also no one's Angel of Music. I am not a Phantom or a Ghost. With Rose, for the very first time, I'm... Erik.

I'm not sure yet what that means, who is this man... but I think I want to find out.


	5. Something so inconspicuous

**Chapter five: Something so inconspicuous**

Moments of shared pain and Rose's constant company together make a long-forgotten feeling slowly return me. Hope. However, despite this, there is still another shadow in my life that haunts me more than the emptiness Christine had left behind or the memories returning with the arrival of dusk. No... there is something worse, from which I still can't free myself...

**Morphine.**

**\- - - X - - -**

I'm standing alone in my room and looking with hatred at the wooden box that lies in front of me upon the table. I've been still taking morphine for all these weeks. I keep promising myself over and over that I will end this, that this one is the last dose, but when it comes down to it and a new day arrives, my hand again reaches into this damn casket.

**I can't stop**

I roll up my sleeve, exposing the left forearm, and I tighten the previously prepared belt above the elbow. I open the casket and look at the syringe and the transparent substance that fills it. Something so inconspicuous ... Why can it have such power over a man, why can it make him its slave? I reach into the box.

I don't even try to fight it anymore.

However, the needle never touches my skin. The syringe is torn from my hand.

I look up. How could I lose myself in the thoughts of a drug so much that I didn't even realize when Rose entered the room? The girl looks at the object she's holding, at the one, only thing I've never told her about, as if she can't believe what she's seeing. I can see the shock on her face, the horror... and then also the stern look of resolve.

She grabs the box from the table, then turns around and runs out of the room.

''Rose!'' I shout, rushing after her.

What is she planning on doing?

I get to her just in time to see her take a swing of her arm and throw both objects far ahead. Straight into the lake. The dark water swallows the offered sacrifice greedily, and a loud splash is heard throughout the cave.

Rose is looking at me, and in her violet eyes I see a firmness I have never seen there before. I don't need anything more than that look to know that every bit of morphine I bring home with me will end up like that. I open my mouth, but there is nothing I can say. I know perfectly well that she is right – it must end.

And because I couldn't make that decision myself, Rose made it for me.

And so I don't stop her when she starts searching through all the rooms one by one. Several times I even tell her where to look and wait patiently until she finishes. Only when she reaches for my wine bottles, intending to give them the same fate as morphine, do I open my mouth to protest – I have no drinking problems. However, when I see the expression on Rose's face, the disgust with which she looks at those bottles... I say nothing.

The memory of the dirty room in the poor district of the city is still fresh in my mind.

There are things that Rose needs too.

**\- - - X - - -**

However, everything has its price – the withdrawal from the drug is no exception. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but... I didn't think it would be that bad. And yet it was only a few months... What would happen if I'd started taking morphine right after Christine left, if the addiction had really lasted two full years? I... I don't think I would survive this.

If all this was only about me, I'd probably have long ago given up and stopped the torture with the next dose. But Rose believes in me. How can I fail her?

So I keep fighting.

I find it harder and harder to get out of bed every morning. The pain seems to split my skull. My stomach stops working.

I ignore this.

My own body turns against me – both the muscles and the mind scream in agony, begging for morphine. I feel weaker than ever before. My shaking can no longer hold the violin bow.

However, I keep trying, I keep fighting...

Until one day I fall down and I can't get up anymore.

**\- - - X - - -**

Hot, so incredibly hot, and at the same time terribly cold. I'm standing... or am I lying down? I don't know. I don't know anything – neither where I am nor what is happening, or why it's so hard for me concentrate, why I can't think clearly, connect facts, why it's so hard to take a breath... I feel as if my mind is surrounded by a dense fog, with which I can't fight in any way.

But this isn't the worst. **All of this isn't the worst!**

...because I'm not alone in this fog...

Voices. And faces. Things I wanted to forget about. It's all here, with me.

I see Christine's face smiling at her angel who has never existed. I hear her sweet voice again when she sings... and then when she tells her young Viscount about me with great horror, when she reveals how scared of me she is. And every word hurts just as it did before. She in the arms of another. The chain with a ring that shines blindingly, as if mocking me. Her hand ripping off my mask. The crowd's screams. A kiss so full of fear that I can't bear it. And relief. That horrible, overwhelming relief in her eyes when I let her go. The haste with which she leaves, only once looking back...

Do you really hate me so much, Christine?

I'm calling her, begging her not to leave, not to abandon me...

But she's already gone.

However, this doesn't mean it's the end of the torture, because the next images emerging from the fog are even worse.

Cage bars. Faces of the crowd twisted grotesquely in mockery and disgust. A whip lashing upon my back like a red-hot iron. The hands of my captors, reaching in my direction to hurt me.

I'm fighting. I strike blindly with my fists, trying to get rid of ghosts, to not let them touch me again. Once, I even think that one of my blows hits the mark, but I'm not sure. But even if it's true, it doesn't matter.

Because it doesn't change anything. My tormentors don't leave. On the contrary – there are more and more of them. Anyone who has ever hurt me, every cruelty... and the sight of Christine kissing a young man, towering above all of this.

Too much, too much, **too much!**

I can't fight anymore. So I scream. I scream until my throat begins to burn with white, hot agony, and the last remnants of strength leave me.

Then everything fades into darkness.

**\- - - X - - -**

Slowly, I open my eyes. I'm still weak, but the fog covering my mind has lifted, and for the first time in a long while I'm able to think clearly. I look around. I'm in my bedroom. By my side, in a chair, I see Rose. She's fast asleep leaning against my bed. Her loose hair doesn't let me see her face, but I do notice her dress – light blue with a purple floral pattern... the same one she was wearing when I last saw her.

Why didn't she change it?

I look at the objects around her: a blanket, a pitcher and a bowl full of water, pieces of cloth – you could use them, for example, to dampen someone's forehead... My eyes return to the sleeping girl... And then it hits me. She was here all this time, watching and taking care of me. She didn't leave even for a moment.

When I realize this, I feel a twinge of guilt... but also something different, warm... I can't explain it.

I gently stroke her head. No wonder she's sleeping – she must be exhausted. She should rest. I take my hand away, intending to let her sleep, but I do it too quickly and my sudden movement awakens Rose.

Realizing I'm conscious, the girl immediately sits straight in the chair. Her tired eyes, ringed by dark circles, widen in astonishment. With a smile, Rose throws herself into my arms and hugs me tightly. I've never seen her so happy. For a moment, I can't even move, but after a while I embrace her as well. I bury my face in her soft curls and only then, feeling their touch on only one, exposed cheek, I realize that the other side of my face is still hidden by the mask.

_She didn't take it off._

I close my eyes.

''Thank you,'' I whisper.


	6. The girl with violet eyes

**Chapter six: The girl with violet eyes**

The days go by and thanks to Rose's care, strength is slowly returning to my exhausted body. Finally, I'm able to get back on my feet again. I know that I will need more time to part with the drug for good, and even then the desire to reach for it will probably accompany me for the rest of my days, but for now the worst is over and at least for once the future seems a little bit brighter.

However, due to all the events of late, none of us has even had the

time to even think about going shopping – so soon the pantry is almost completely empty. Therefore, promising Rose that I will be back soon, I go to the surface.

**\- - - X - - -**

The city is bathed in the rays of afternoon sun, but it doesn't bother me; it is quite the opposite – I regret that the hood which I'm wearing to hide the mask doesn't allow me to feel them on my face. I have spent so many years in the dark, but now I'm drawn to the light.

While strolling, I also think about Rose and everything that has happened recently, and how could I thank her for that. Maybe I should buy her a present? Jewelry, or a new dress... for example, a purple or blue one. Those colors suit her.

Without thinking, I turn into the street where I know there are stores offering items I'm thinking about right now.

However, I never get to enter any of them, and any considerations about the gift are immediately forgotten when I see a couple standing in front of one of display windows.

Christine and the Viscount.

His hand is touching her round belly, where their child is probably growing right now. They are both laughing, happy. As if nothing had happened, as if I'd meant nothing, as if for the two years I hadn't been suffering, as if they hadn't spared me a single thought, as if I'd never even existed...

I can't look at this anymore – I turn around and run in the opposite direction.

They don't even notice me.

**\- - - X - - -**

I rush through the corridors, trying to get back to my home as soon as possible. When I get there, Rose comes to greet me, but I don't pay attention to it. Without a word of explanation, I pass her and burst into my room, where I just stand with my fists clenched, trying to control myself. However, as always, Rose doesn't let me be alone and soon I hear footsteps behind my back.

''I saw her. With **him**...'' I manage to draw through clenched teeth in answer to a silent question.

A small hand touches mine, but I still don't turn around. My lack of reaction makes Rose circle around me to stand right in front of me and makes me look at her. And when I finally glance at her, she does what she always does. She smiles.

And like water breaking through a dam, I snap.

''**Why are you always smiling?!**'' My scream is more akin to the roar of a wild beast than to an outcry of a man. ''**What is so funny that you keep laugh even when you or others suffer?!**''

Rose wants to move away from me, but I don't allow her, grabbing her by the shoulders. I'm shaking her, shouting terrible things. Cruel words and unsubstantiated accusations leave my lips before I can stop them. I know that none of this is true, that she doesn't deserve it, but I can't stop. I'm taking my pain and frustration out on Rose, even though it's not her fault. I behave like an animal backed into a corner, which attacks around blindly, trying in the only known way to protect itself against another wound.

However, I'm still weak and one blow from panicked girl is enough for me to stagger. Rose breaks free from my grasp and runs away, and I fall to my knees. Her steps echo, more and more distant, until finally I can't hear them at all anymore.

It's only when everything sinks into complete silence, that I realize fully what I have just done.

''R-Rose? ROSE!'' I call her, but it's no use.

I'm alone here.

And I can only blame myself for that.

It's my fault, she has run away because of only me. She was the only one who cared my fate, who wanted to help me. She was always with me, she's never abandoned me when I needed her... without her I would have been long dead...

And I chased her away. I did exactly what I was so terrified of.

She doesn't even have a place to go...

**What have I done?**

**\- - - X - - -**

I do not know how long I've been sitting on the stone floor and crying alone when I hear footsteps again. I slowly raise my head and see Rose standing in the doorway, who shyly approaches me and sits down next to me. Our eyes meet and for a moment we just look at each other in silence.

She came back.

But it's not possible.

I open my mouth and ask a question. The same question as always, the one which is present in my mind from our first meeting, around which everything has revolves from the very beginning...

''Why?''

I've never thought that one word could carry such a great weight.

Rose grabs my hand and slowly places it on her chest, where the heart is. I know what she wants to say by doing this, but it doesn't make sense. How could anyone... _love me_? The things I've done, what I look like...

With the other hand, I involuntarily touch the mask.

I am a monster.

Rose slowly releases my hand and instead reaches for the mask I'm wearing. She doesn't rip it off like how Christine did, but instead she, looking in my eyes, gently pulls it off. I help her by taking off the wig myself. I'm sitting bare in front of, I'm not hiding anything anymore, and she... accepts it. She does what she is best at – she smiles exactly as she did twelve years ago. Once more she rests my hand on her heart.

I am a monster... but not to her.

When I look at her, dumbfounded, a shadow passes over her face. Rose touches her throat and looks at me questioningly.

Precisely... she can accept me, but can I do the same? Rose is mute and nothing will ever change that – can I live with it?

A voice... something so inconspicuous and at the same time so important to me. It attracted me to Christine, it inspired me, it was what I care about so often, and above all... there is something else about it. Something I've always wanted... and it's not about my appearance at all. Yes, I always wanted to be like everyone else, but there is one, only thing that means more to me... my whole life I've truly just wanted someone to say that they love me. That's all. But Rose will do none of these things – she'll never sing or say those words that I so desperately want to hear...

I'm... I'm a complete fool.

Every little gesture, every gift, every smile, her never ending patience, understanding, care... Yes, it's true – Rose can't say me she loves me. But she doesn't have to. Because she keeps _showing_ me this. She loves Me. **She. Loves.** **Me. **And that means more than any words or even the most beautiful music.

"I do not have to hear your voice to love you," I say firmly.

And saying this sentence, I know it's true. I'm not sure when it happened, but in one of those little, ordinary moments something has changed. Chasing after some dreamed perfection, I couldn't see it, but I love her.

My love for Christine was full of passion, it was burning with a bright flame that in my madness almost burned both of us down. What I feel for Rose is different, gentler, but... but maybe that's how it is supposed to look. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for – for this strange peace, this silent understanding. Maybe it was always supposed to be her. Not Christine, but Rose – the girl with violet eyes.

I reach to her and put _her_ hand on _my_ heart.

The smile that she gives me this time is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.


End file.
